Two years on.

Ryan reminded me that today is the second anniversary of learning of Mom's death. I still remember his call that day, and how hoarse and raw his voice was from screaming and crying. I remember having to keep my composure well enough to explain it to Malcolm and Chloe, that Nana was gone forever. Aged 5 and 2, it was their first experience of losing a close family member. At 33, it was also mine. The pain never goes away, the sense of loss never leaves me.

She always enjoyed packing her sons' lunches, even when Ryan and I were in high school. Neither of us ever felt embarrassed about it, though. We were happy to have such terrific meals, and their larger meaning was never lost on us. Even our friends understood. We knew it was yet another small sign of just how much we were loved.

Mom often included notes in our lunches, a tradition which Stephanie and I have kept on a daily basis for Malcolm (and for Chloe next year, as she enters kindergarten). Somehow I've managed to keep one of her notes in my wallet for years, and on days like today it means more than she could possibly have imagined when she casually wrote it in that exquisitely beautiful handwriting I am so familiar with.

I miss you terribly, Mom.

Love always,

Peanut.